Up until my 32nd birthday I wasn’t afraid of birthdays. But for this milestone of 33, I sort of was.
I was aware of some sort of ticking…whether it was from my biological clock or my own expectations of where I want to be professionally, I don’t know. But it was there, right up to the night before celebration time.
As I lay in my bed listening to this ticking, I suddenly remembered that I actually *like to be different every year, somehow. I thought about how many different jobs I’ve had, the places I’ve been, and the new hobbies I’d picked up.
I reminded myself that I never got down about turning one year older because I just knew it was a reason to choose to be someone different – if I wanted – and in a good way.
For instance, I’ve wanted to work more with animals. Or maybe this would be the year that I learn to make chocolate. Or I might want to teach. It all really comes down to my “top 5” list.
Even if that activity towards a new-and-hopefully-improved Cat was undecided, just knowing that even had a choice in what I wanted to do immediately quieted the annoying ticking that threatened to become louder.
I fell asleep and woke up feeling great, ready to do whatever felt fun and natural on my day off. Turns out, turning 33 was indeed awesome.
My second gift – having my profile published in the Statesman. It’s not because my ego is inflated and I feel warm and fuzzy inside, but I’m INCREDIBLY PSYCHED that I have met more people who want to improve their health, and I can’t really think of anything better than that.
I couldn’t have asked for a better way to start a new birth year. (Just remind me to re-read this post next year if you hear me panicking about turning one year older!)
To aging gracefully,